


Angel of Illness

by TheClumsyHero



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClumsyHero/pseuds/TheClumsyHero
Summary: Erik has always been known as an incredibly gifted man; composer, musician, singer, and this only scratches the surface of his talent. However, not even he is above common Illness, and Christine is there to make sure he gets the rest he requires. Even she can prove to be a force to be reckoned with when under the appropriate circumstances.Modern AU





	Angel of Illness

There had been an odd weight that filled the air in the phantom composer's homestead. It was a terribly odd feeling, and yet any passing bystander surely would have missed this odd phenomenon for their basic lack of knowledge and, more importantly, their knowledge of the Phantom's habits. Erik was a terribly predictable man no matter how furious this fact may have caused him to be. There was a method to his madness; and his customs had become rather familiar to the young dancer. 

Christine Daaé found the man to be somewhat of an anomaly; he was a creature to be studied and study him she had. She watched as he prepared himself to play; she would observe the way his fingers brushed the ivory keys, the way his breathing shifted and his posture straightened. Even the very manner of his dress was rather predictable. Black seemed to be his preferred color of choice; black suits, shirts, ties, waistcoats; with the occasional cravat though this was a piece reserved for the confines of his home. Even within the privacy of his own home he was always dressed immaculately; she had only ever caught him less than ornate once in their small time they had known one another when she had dropped by unannounced, and yet he still held such elegance the thought had slipped her mind at the time. 

And then there was the mask. 

It was an enigma to the woman, and this, while ever present, did hold some unpredictability. While it's presence was unabating, the style of the mask would vary from time to time. She had grown used to his typical white porcelain that hid the shape of it's wearer's face behind it's delicate features; other times he would surprise her with variants of said mask; some leather, some black or different styles with lace. No matter what, it would still reside upon his face, leaving only his lips and chin exposed to her gaze. That, and his piercing golden eyes. 

Erik was a marvel of a man. His private life and even identity mystified and avoided the public's eye. At times she found herself dressing up if ever so slightly so as to avoid feeling inadequate when visiting her teacher. Though, she supposed their relationship had somewhat strayed from being student teacher to a more friendly one. The golden haired beauty often visited for tea, or dinner, or to simply converse with the genius himself--yes, genius! Erik was a brilliant individual, however it also lead Christine to struggle as well. His brilliance could prove to be frustrating.

At times it felt like playing chess when picking conversations with the masked musician. A mask, of which, she had come to find was off limits; there were many items off limits that would spark a fire within Erik and cause their conversations to crumble. The man was a social atrocity, but Christine still tried her damn best. There had been times in which she had stormed out, where she had left the man on his own and there had been times when Erik himself had left to retreat to his room, his common method of escape. But, if her frequent visits hadn't already indicated such, she still enjoyed their time spent together and it was obvious to her it meant the world to Erik. She couldn't possibly imagine why, but it kept her coming back regardless.

There was also her concern that kept her visiting regularly.

Despite his intellect, despite the way he held himself and spoke, Erik deeply concerned the woman. He was a shockingly thin individual, though this was a trait not easily seen beneath his typically concealing clothes. The fleeting glimpses she had been able to catch of his thin figure; the knobs of his spine through a particularly thin shirt, his thin bony hands, even the very little she'd seen of his face told her he was most likely emaciated and this frightened her. His sleep schedule was horrific to match his eating habits; there were times she received late night messages and then quick apologies for losing track of time. Hell, there had even been times where she had texted on particularly restless nights and she always received a message not minutes later. Her visits at least ensured he would receive some form of care and it was enough to put her at ease. 

Upon Christine's arrival, music had filled the air; it was a tune familiar to the woman and she stood and listened to the beautiful notes for a few brief moments. As with the many other traits Christine had observed, being greeted with music was simply customary when visiting Erik. Many times it was only instrumental, but at times she would be lucky enough to hear the excellence that was his voice bellowing throughout the home. No matter how many times she heard his singing she found herself taken back by the strength and passion behind his own astounding instrument. Although today was one of those blessed days; Christine, under the circumstances, felt far from such. 

"Erik!" She had called, but the playing persisted.  
It was unlike Erik to do so; her voice typically pulled him from whatever deep thought or action he found himself preoccupied with. It startled her at times to see how powerful a hold she had on the man; to see how eager he was to hear her speak and sing and address him. But she brushed it off, he simply hadn't heard her; he was singing and playing which gave him a rather solid excuse. Instead she resolved to approach him and announce her arrival physically. 

She was soon climbing the spiral staircase to the second floor of the apartment--the apartment, she had to keep reminding herself, because surely it could fit several of her own in this one--and once at the top she took a few moments to admire the preoccupied man. As per usual she found he was dressed in black; a faint string cut through his typically well kept carob locks. The woman stood back, listening to the notes that graced the air, listening to his silken voice--and then found herself jarred. 

While his fingers swept over the pianos keys with more grace than that of a dancer, the nasal quality to his voice was indistinguishable. There had been many a time Christine found herself struggling with the same problems. And it was true, congestion wasn't necessarily harmful, but she feared there was more than only some nasal issues. It was for that reason the woman made her presence known. She swept around to the front of the piano and the moment she had reached his peripheral vision, the man had ceased his actions entirely.

"Christine; I didn't hear you enter. How long have you been here?"  
It worried her, but at the moment she shrugged it off. With Erik there were times where it was most appropriate to keep her own facade plastered upon her fair face; a porcelain mask of her own. Erik responded to emotions, her emotions, but right now she would be in charge of the situation.  
"Only a few moments." Was her curt response, and soon thin arms found themselves crossing over her front.  
"Erik, are you feeling unwell?"  
It was obvious to her that the question surprised the man. While she couldn't decipher his face as she would most, Erik was blissfully unaware of how telling his physical actions were. His posture shifted, and his gaze refrained from meeting with her own.  
"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"  
Christine had pursed her lips with the response; thinking she would have received anything other than that response was foolish. Erik was such an incredibly stubborn man.  
"Erik, I sing as well; I believe you forget that sometimes. I can hear you're not yourself, lying about it is silly and terribly obvious." 

She can see the man fluster with that accusation; it was obvious he was not fond of being called out as he had been; he was generally so meticulous, his occasional lies were generally very concise and made to set his angel at ease. He was clumsy today, and it only worried her further. Even despite her cool appearance he knew full well she was concerned for him.  
"It is nothing serious, Christine, it is why I didn't mention it. It's no lie; just because I'm slightly congested does not mean I am unwell."  
"Does your throat hurt?"  
This, again, caught Erik off guard. Silence had fallen between the two of them, and the man had become stalk still. After a calculated inhale and eventual exhale, his lips parted once more.  
"No, it's only some--flem." It's obvious he is disgusted to mention such a thing in front of the woman. "It's nothing to be concerned about. Anyway, I thought you were coming later, I would have started dinner had I known--"

What Christine had done next completely threw the man for a loop. 

The petite woman had approached the Phantom, and small hands worked around the man's neck; his tie had been pulled loose, top button unbuttoned and soon his collar was being pulled back allowing her access to his neck. The man had flinched when her soft fingers found themselves working over his own deathly thin throat. She faltered with the action, and found her eyes glued to the man, or rather, glued to his golden eyes that had finally moved to meet her gaze. Those eyes always betrayed him, they held more emotion than he would ever be able to truly comprehend and at the moment they were filled with such genuine shock and anxiety that Christine momentarily felt guilty for being so forceful--but only for a fleeting moment. Soon her finger tips were gliding across his skin once more.

"Christine, what on earth--"  
His wavering voice was immediately silenced with a single shush from the blonde. When her finger tips ran over two particularly telling lumps, her tongue clicked in disappointment.  
"Just as I thought; Erik your throat must be killing you. You can't sing like this. You're a teacher, you of all people should know that."  
Christine pulled her hands away after that, and instead decided to cross them once more. At the very least he had settled with the lack of her invasiveness.  
Erik took a moment to recover, but it was obvious he was irritated with his own body for betraying him.  
"Your teacher; I don't care for anyone else. It's hardly anything serious, Christine, and this is my work. Calling off for something as trivial as a cold--"  
"You're not singing anymore. Erik, you might even have a fever, you felt a little warm, let me just--"

When her hand had reached for the top of his mask his bony fingers were fast to strike, wrapping themselves around her own thin wrist.  
"Don't." The word was hushed, and she could tell there was a particular tremble in his hands.  
While she so desperately wished to see what lay underneath she accepted his request, and instead retracted her hand, and allowed a sigh to pass her lips.  
"Would you allow me to at least take your temperature, then? You have to have a thermometer somewhere."  
It seemed that the situation caused some unease for the masked man, and he found his own lips momentarily pursing. While he was indignant, he couldn't possibly bring himself to deny Christine her requests. He absolutely adored the woman, and the thought of her being hurt at his expense was enough to nearly cause him to weep out of sorrow and guilt.

So, he begrudgingly obliged.

"Medicine cabinet in the bathroom."  
Christine gave a nod in response, but wasn't quick to leave. Instead her gaze drifted, and then returned to the man sitting before the piano.  
"Go over and wait for me on the couch, please. No playing while I'm gone."  
"Can I really not be trusted in my own home?"  
Her hardened gaze said it all. A rather lengthy sigh had passed his lips, and after a few moments the man was on his feet. He towered over her own small form, and she was lucky he had complied with her request. Despite his thinness, Erik was an incredibly powerful man. There was no way the little Christine would have been able to move him. 

When he had glided over to the sofa she, too, left her spot and instead moved to retrieve the item she needed. Upon her return she found it difficult to disguise the smirk threatening to bloom across her features. Erik had looked like such an indignant little child the way he sat upon the couch; as though he had been scolded by his mother.  
The look on her face must have been more obvious than she had formerly thought, because Erik was quick to remark.  
"What?"  
"Nothing; open your mouth please."  
"Fine, so as long as this shows you I'm alright."  
"Erik, if you don't have a fever I'll sing that newest piece you've been pestering me about."  
"Pestering? I have not--"  
She took his gaping as an opportunity to shove the thermometer into his mouth, a smug grin across her pale features.  
"Keep your mouth shut. I'm going to go make some tea; I'll be back when it goes off." 

Before he could protest she was gone once more, leaving the lanky man to his own devices. 

As she filled the kettle with water she couldn't help but sigh herself; he was so old fashioned. Although she wouldn't admit such to Erik, placing a mug in the microwave was just as effective as waiting for the kettle to whistle. She couldn't help but find a smile painting her pale lips with the thought of his reaction; no doubt he'd be mortified. Ah, she wouldn't do that to him now. His temper was so fickle, and it seemed he was more irritable than usual. Perhaps another time. 

"This can't be right."  
Even if she had missed the beeping of the thermometer, Erik's booming outrage was unmistakable. Ah, a fever then.  
"What is the damage, Erik?" She moved to call up the steps, though she was quick to add, "And don't you dare lie to me! I'll come up and take it again!"  
A beat; she assumed she had thwarted his plans.  
"100.2." 

As she had figured. She gave a hum of acknowledgement, though it was mostly to herself than anything.  
"I would get into something more comfortable, Erik. Those clothes are inappropriate when you're not feeling well."  
She could hear his grumbling even at the base of the stairwell, but she was at least happy to hear the occasional patter of his feet on the floor.  
He must really have not been feeling well, she assumed, because typically he was more quiet than a mouse. Well, she'd be sure to care for him. 

It wasn't long before the kettle began to whistle, and she was quick to pour the steaming water into a mug; yes, a mug, he would complain but carrying a boiling cup of tea in such a small container up the steps seemed more daunting than she was willing to deal with on top of an irate Erik. She'd decided on ginger, and added some honey to the mix. She wasn't entirely sure if Erik would appreciate it but it was good for sore throats so he would simply have to accept it. Once finished she made her way back to the ill man. 

She was happy to find he was at least somewhat undressed if not entirely changed. He was left in an opened button down; enough so to expose the thinness of his near skeletal chest. His pants remained the same, but at least he had lost most of the weight. Though, with the lack of clothing, the tremor in his body became much more apparent. She noted this new symptom as she placed down the tea on the coffee table in front of the sofa. 

She hadn't allowed any protest because just as quickly as she had appeared, she glided away once more. There had been a few times the woman had stayed over at the man's home, but there were still many parts of the house she was unfamiliar with. It was why she had entered the guest bedroom that had been deemed as her own room, and carefully pulled the comforter off the bed. Erik was particularly mortified to see the blanket, and protested as it was wrapped around his shoulders.  
"Christine I have others, that's yours."  
"It's your house, Erik, everything here is yours."  
"Not this."  
"Just take the blanket, Erik, as you said there are others."  
"You'll stay the night then?"  
She paused her wrapping for a moment before she gave a nod.  
"Yes."  
Although irritated, he was in little mood to continue fussing and it seemed her statement passified him. Before long the man was tightly wrapped up, although he didn't particularly look comfortable. If only he'd take off the mask.  
"Erik, is anonymity really that important now? We've known each other for a while couldn't you just--"  
"I won't."  
There was no discussing the issue.  
"Very well. Do you want to go downstairs? The TV is down there--"  
"Don't want to watch it."  
This was surprising to her; though the thought soon arose,  
"Headache?"  
He was silent for a few moments, his gaze ahead, staring at nothing.  
"Mm." A hum and a very calculated nod.

At the very least Christine could be happy that Erik's apartment was near always cloaked in perpetual darkness. Once she flipped the lamp near the piano off they were left in almost complete blackness; she was misly thankful for the setting sun. She would eventually have to flip a lamp or two on but at the very least her Phantom seemed content, despite his occasional tremors. 

He had moved at some point to guzzle down the scalding tea, and this had startled the woman who had quickly made a move to snatch the mug from his lips.  
"Erik, that must be burning your mouth what are you doing? It's still steaming!"  
"Cold. Throat's dry."  
"I could get you water."  
"Mm." He took advantage of her loss of grip and sipped his tea once more, to Christine's disgust it seemed.  
She decided to take the mug from him after that, and placed it back in it's original position.  
"I'm going to go get you some water as well. Don't touch it until it cools down." 

Considering his particularly difficult disposition she didn't know if Erik would comply, but she left him regardless to fill up a glass of water and return to the ailing man. Upon her arrival it seemed he had finally resolved to show just how terribly he felt. While it should have made her feel better to know he had laid himself across the couch, it really just gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It couldn't possibly have been comfortable; his legs were far too long for the sofa which left them curled up nearly by his chest. His shaking was still visible even from beneath the blanket and finally she moved to action.

"Sit up, please." 

Erik gazed at her, and it was obvious to her he was rather confused, but listened to her command either way. Christine slid herself beside the man, and then carefully eased his head into her lap. His body tensed when she made contact with him, as he most always did. Her hands soon made their way to well-kept locks and began working their way along his scalp, carefully massaging his aching head. She watched his body relax with each passing moment and soon it practically melted into her lap. It was such an odd feeling for her, seeing this man so comfortable, so--unlike his typical self. But she was glad she was able to at least make him content. 

"I don't like seeing you like this. You're no fun when you're so compliant."  
Erik hummed in response, and she could see a faint smile gracing his lips.  
"We'll have to fix that." His voice was tired, distant, but she enjoyed it regardless. "I don't wish to worry you either."  
Christine sighed, leaned over, and soon a very soft kiss was placed upon the side of this man's head.  
Once more he tensed up, and he quickly spoke.

"Christine."  
"Hm?"  
"You're my angel."  
A laugh.  
"Whatever you say, Erik."

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't originally going to post this but I though hey, why not! This is based off an AU a friend and I had and I thought I'd write a drabble. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
